Future Deleted Experiment of the Present # 8

“Come Back For Winter”

she, smells winter’s face

scents summoning cinnamon, serenaded upon October cheek bones, and clean, smitten teeth seen chattering repeatedly

smiling silently, out of place in sudden synchrony, seemingly by fires always thriving in space so quiet drums and heartbeats keep pace indistinguishably

forcing even mums to speak up in whisper, painterly, in wind burnt satisfaction, looking forward in forgetful discussion devoured in foggy malaise,

satisfied and blazed we blister

drawing circles on windows around redacted dreams only cowards dare mime the words to, innuendo abound, concede quick attraction to bed imperfection, eventual rhythms eschew intentional flue,

asleep to sweet toothed satisfaction

other worldly night owls of the autodidactic, intent in explaining abstraction, she strums dulcimers content without strings attached, stirred by saturn’s rings still in tact,

a pact of holiday distraction

escaping ceremony in bellyache, cemeteries border the bounties of still stomachs, sanctions measure soundscape intently astounding harsher critics that wallpaper illness to unsteady melody, the cries begone ye crestfallen symphony, where heat is unable to serve unsubtlety at the empty tables set for sincerity

epiphany splintered in pictures of snowfall like Moses the holy one chosen to carry a tablet so coldly, she instinctively sees gods in the screen, reflected in our habits and its most honorable thief

boldly she, winter’s name